


still our hands match

by mandyfuckinmilkovich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluffy sort of, M/M, Requested fic, Tumblr Fic, boyfrands, post 4x11 and pre 4x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1465597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandyfuckinmilkovich/pseuds/mandyfuckinmilkovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey's not used to it, this feeling, this lightness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	still our hands match

There are bruises blooming on Ian’s back when sunlight filters in through Mickey’s window, turning his room grey and blue and soft. Ian looks good in every light and Mickey’s heart hammers in his chest. Ian holds him hard, kisses him even harder, and Mickey can’t breathe right, his mouth, his nose, his chest, everything still hurts but he doesn’t care.

Ian runs his thumb over the gash on Mickey’s nose, bites his ear, bites his neck, murmurs into his ear, hot breath and prayers on his skin.

"Are we here? Did last night really happen?"

It’s unbelievable even in the light of day, but Mickey nods and presses his fingers into Ian’s back, grabbing at skin like it’s clothing, pulling and twisting and getting closer closer closer. Ian hisses into his mouth because he hurts too, on his skin, inside his skin, it runs deep, but still they clutch at each other, cling to each other. Never letting go.

//

They sleep side by side and on top of each other and Mickey wakes up sometimes with Ian’s elbow in his back or Ian’s nose in his neck or Ian’s whole body between his legs and he craves all of it. His sheets smell less like smoke and sweat and more like Ian and him and it’s the best thing he’s ever smelled, comforting and love and warm, and he’ll kiss Ian’s forehead, drifting off, Ian the last thing he feels.

//

Mickey’s not used to it, this feeling, this lightness. Of being able to wake up and fool around in bed or in the shower or the hallway, of walking out of his room, Ian at his back, smiling into his neck, laughing about something shared, something they know, something secret. Mickey’s not used to being in on the secret.

Ian makes breakfast and Mickey reads the paper, watches him out of the corner of his eye, really really really likes the way his boxers look on Ian’s ass and how Ian looks in his kitchen, talking away about tomorrow and next week and next year.

"We never did sneak in to that game. You have time?" Ian grins at him and sets waffles on the table, kicks his legs when he sits down next to him. Mickey texts Kev and tells him to keep track of shit at the bar and the tug shop.

He’s got all the damn time in the world and he eats waffles drenched in syrup with Ian’s arm touching his and a light in his chest.

//

Ian goes back to work and Mickey goes with him sometimes, watching and drinking and slapping hands away and Ian grinning at him in the strobe lighting. In dark corners, he holds Mickey’s hips and presses him into a wall, the music loud and vibrating through his body, and Ian kisses him, tastes expensive like cherry and vodka. He’s shaking and Mickey wonders what he’s on, who slipped him something, but Ian just sighs into his mouth, whispers that he can’t get enough, will never get enough of this and Mickey pulls him closer, shakes with him.

//

Mandy’s face matches Mickey’s, all black, blue and terrifying. They’re a fucking sight on their own but when they stand side by side, it’s something that tugs at Mickey. Mandy smirks and comments about teaching him to cover it up and Ian gets angry all over again. He wants to take them somewhere, anywhere, his house, a hotel, a fucking car on the side of the road for all he cares, he just wants them out of that place, convinced something bad’s going to happen.

"Nothing’s gonna happen. We got our asses kicked but the other guys were worse." Mickey thinks of Terry, Uncle Phil. Thinks of broken bottles and broken chairs and blood in his eyes, red in Terry’s. He shudders and bites his lip hard. "It’s done Ian."

Ian’s close to hyperventilating, pacing around Mickey’s room, kicking random things out of the way and all Mickey can do is stare at him.

"When the fuck did you get so paranoid?"

"I just-" Ian’s hands are on his hips and he stops in front of Mickey. "I don’t want- I can’t. Fuck."

He tosses himself roughly on to the bed, his hands grabbing roughly at his hair, like he wants to tear it out. Mickey goes and sits next to him, touches Ian’s arm, feels how tense he is.

"Ian-"

"Just tell me. Tell me if something happens again, we’ll leave."

Mickey blinks and lies down next to him and tells him. Tells him they will. He strokes Ian’s hair and watches him calm down, watches him fall asleep and tells him over and over that they will. That they’ll be fine.

He promises and he has every intention of keeping it.

//

When Mickey wakes, Ian’s sitting up in bed, scribbling furiously in his journal, his hair falling in his face. Mickey wants to smooth the crinkle on his forehead, wants to talk and ask questions and know what he’s writing, what’s got him looking like this, so passionate and serious, this fire on his face. He moves closer, touches his arm, kisses Ian’s side.

Ian pauses, smiles softly at him.

"Good dreams?"

Mickey nods but he doesn’t remember. And that is good. For him, it’s everything.

They’re silent, the only sound Ian’s pencil and paper make, and Mickey’s surprised at himself, at how much this room feels like theirs now, feels like home. He’s always wanted a home, wanted something to be his. Finding it in Ian, sharing it with Ian makes his breath catch and his chest feel lighter.

"What do you always write about?" His voice is rough with sleep and Ian scoots down a little, Mickey’s hand falling to his chest, feeling his heart, feeling him breath.

"Ideas. Things that I see and hear. Things I dream about. Things I love."

He scoots further down the bed and he’s facing Mickey, his hand on his cheek, his breath in his nose. Ian kisses him softly, their noses brushing and his eyes are light and his smile is good and happy and everything.

"You."

Mickey’s heart thuds loudly in his ears and he grabs Ian’s hand, twists their fingers together and rests his forehead with Ian’s. He feels warm and like they’ve just made more promises and he wants everything and for the first time in his life, feels like just maybe he can have it.


End file.
